Although all of this was very good, a headache still throbbed in Leyuet’s temple when it was all over and the gryphon had gone away, bowing gracefully.
Leyuet did not follow; the Emperor’s eyes held him where he stood. For a moment, he feared that Shalaman would summon him to the side of the throne, but once the gryphon was well away, the Emperor only nodded, releasing Leyuet from any further need to dance attendance on him.
Shalaman’s nod was accompanied by the faintest of sympathetic smiles, telling Leyuet that the Emperor had noticed the lines of pain about his eyes and mouth. Shalaman was good at noticing things, and was only unkind to his subordinates when need drove him to unkindness.
Leyuet took himself out, quickly. Silver Veil had not been in her Advisor’s position at the throne, and neither had Palisar. The latter was probably in the temple complex located on the Palace grounds, overseeing the magical investigations into the murders. The former must be in her quarters.
This was, for Leyuet’s sake, a very good thing, the first good thing that had happened today.
A Truthsayer must always find the truth. A Truthsayer could not be bought for any coin. This was a weighty responsibility; and all those bearing weighty responsibilities went to Silver Veil for solace. That solace was generally not the kind of physical comfort that the lower classes assumed. Leyuet could have that at any time, from any number of skilled ladies. No, the solace that Silver Veil provided was of another order altogether.
His feet took him to Silver Veil’s suite without a conscious decision on his part, purely in the hope that she might not be giving another the privilege of her skills. He had not gone to her in many days, respecting her need for privacy in the wake of the horrifying murders—but now, his own pain and need were too great. The physical pain of the headache warned him of worse to come if he did not have it tended to, now.
Silver Veil’s servants answered his knock and ushered him into a room he knew well, a room where the harsh light of the sun was softened by gauze curtains drawn across many windows, where the scents of flowers blended gracefully with those of soothing herbs, where the only furnishings were low couches covered in soft, absorbent fabrics, couches that could also be used for massages.
The colors here were all cool; deep greens and blues, strong, clear colors that accentuated Silver Veil’s pale beauty. She entered once the servants had settled him on one of the couches, and had clothed him in a light robe suitable for a massage.
She slipped among the gauze hangings like a slim silver fish through water-weeds, a silver-chased basket in her hands. She put it down beside him, and experimentally touched his shoulders with her fingers.
“My goodness,” she said with an upraised eyebrow. “You should have come to me several days ago! Palisar certainly didn’t hesitate.”
“I am not Palisar,” he reminded her.
“No, you aren’t. You are Leyuet, who sacrifices his own comfort far too often. Here—” She flipped open the lid of the casket, revealing the contents.
It contained neither massage oils nor treasure, but Leyuet’s own secret passion and guilty pleasure: sugar-powdered pastries and cookies.
“Oh—” he said ruefully, in mingled appreciation and concern. “Oh, my dear child, I shall eat these and put on so much weight that my robes will strain across my stomach!”
“You will eat those because a little bird told me you have eaten next to nothing these past three days,” she said firmly. “You will eat these because you need them, for the soothing of your spirit, because you deserve them. Besides, they are good for you. I used special recipes. I do not ascribe to the belief that what is good for you must taste like so much old, dried-up hay.”
Leyuet finally broke into a smile, selecting a plump pastry. He held it and devoured it first with his eyes, anticipating the sweet savor, the way that the first bite would melt away to nothing on his tongue, releasing the mingled flavors of almond, vanilla, and honey. He closed his eyes, brought the pastry to his mouth, and bit into the flaky crust, as sugar-glaze broke and scattered over his hand.
It tasted every bit as good as he had imagined, and before he realized it, he was licking the last crumbs from his fingers.
Leyuet opened his eyes to see that Silver Veil was watching him with a pleased smile on her lips, her hands folded in her lap. He laughed.
“Silver Veil,” he asked, feeling a warm contentment begin to loosen those knotted muscles in his shoulders before she could even place a finger upon them, “how is it that you always know what someone needs before he himself knows? How is it that you can do the things that are kind as well as the things that are duties, in the face of all obstacles?”
She continued to smile serenely. “I could say it is a professional secret, dear heart—but the truth is that I simply think of another’s hopes before my own, and the kindnesses follow, as naturally as flowers follow buds. It is really no more mysterious than that.”
Leyuet shook his head. “If these strangers, these folk of the Gryphon King, could possibly be anything like you—”
“At least one is, for I taught him, and I think that I know him as well as any person can be said to know another,” she interrupted, directing him to turn his back to her so that she could begin to work on the muscles of his neck and shoulders. He was tempted by the still-open casket beside him, but resisted the temptation.
“Amberdrake, you mean.” He sighed. “He is so foreign—and their King, more alien still. I do not understand them, and I wonder how they could ever understand us. They seem to, but how could they, really? How could anyone who has a King like theirs ever hope to understand us?”
“Would that not make it easier?” she countered. “If someone can understand the ways of a creature like a gryphon, should it not be easier for them to understand the ways of fellow humans?”
He let out his breath in a hiss of pain as she struck a nerve, then shook his head again. “You and they are of a piece, my dear. Their lands gave birth to you and nurtured you. Yet somehow you fit in here as well as with them, and I find that even more mysterious than anything else about you. How can you move so well in two different worlds?”
Silver Veil worked on his muscles for a little longer before she answered.
“Perhaps—” she hesitated. “Perhaps because I have lived long enough that I no longer pay a great deal of attention to what is different, only to what is the same,” she answered slowly. Then her tone grew lighter. “And one of the things that is universal is that no one can truly have his back worked on while he is sitting up like an old nursemaid displaying perfect posture!” She rapped him reprovingly on the shoulder. “Down, Truthsayer! Give me the space to work my will upon you!”
Chuckling, he obliged her, and for the space of an hour at least, he forgot the troubles that had brought him there.
Six
Hadanelith carved another delicate sliver of dark wood from his current sculpture, and surveyed the result critically, lips pursed, humming a bit to himself.